


War of the Roses, Not to Mention Lilies, Tulips, Lotuses, Lavender, and Ginger Flowers

by noeon (noe)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noe/pseuds/noeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Lucius are planning their wedding. Hermione enlists Harry's help to obtain flowers as the date nears. Draco is less than pleased about his father's upcoming nuptials and attempts to thwart every effort Harry makes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War of the Roses, Not to Mention Lilies, Tulips, Lotuses, Lavender, and Ginger Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marguerite_26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/gifts).



**War of the Roses, Not to Mention Lilies, Tulips, Lotuses, Lavender, and Ginger Flowers**

 

The Malfoy-Granger wedding was to be the social event of the summer season. Although neither party wanted an enormous wedding, having both been married before, the expectations of the wizarding world for spectacle and drama ran high.

"Harry, I can scarcely stand it!" Hermione said during one of their weekly Floo chats. Harry's ears pricked at the note of desperation in her voice. In all the years he had been friends with Hermione, he had rarely heard her sound out of control, much less desperate.

"Stand what?" Harry raised himself off of the sofa, where he had been lolling, and came closer to the fire. "What's gone wrong?"

"Oh. Nothing. Yet," she harrumphed. "But we've journalists in the garden already and Draco is throwing another one of his tantrums and Lucius..." She sighed. "Well, he's unconcerned, but I know there's something to Draco's threats."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He had been able to ignore his old rival over past decade, although they ritually exchanged frosty glances at the social functions they attended together several times a year. Mostly they stayed out of each other's way, but with the wedding... well, he might have to intervene if it meant Hermione's happiness.

"What's he done?" Harry's voice came out sharper than he meant it to.

Hermione sighed again. "He's paid off all of the florists in wizarding England not to deliver to the Manor, under threat of Shrivelspore in their shops should they renege."

Harry blinked. "Does Lucius know?"

"Of course he does." Hermione pursed her lips. "He knew Draco was planning something, but when it happened, he felt... Well, he thought this a relatively harmless outlet for Draco's anger at our wedding. But now I have to figure out how to procure flowers and frankly, I don't have the energy to go to France at the moment. Not to mention I suspect Draco's waiting for me to make a move so he can thwart me there as well."

Harry considered Hermione's dilemma. It took him a while. Hermione was lucky to be as sharp as she was: marrying a Malfoy took exceptional plotting brains, particularly when there was a resentful second Malfoy involved. So far, Hermione had sidestepped all of the social traps and malicious pranks Draco had attempted since he discovered that his father was seriously pursuing the smartest witch of their year and that the feeling was mutual. Hermione and Lucius had had a whirlwind, and very public, courtship, and Draco had tried to embarrass her at every turn. Lucius hadn't interfered, knowing that Hermione would have to control Draco at some level for the rest of their lives together, but he did keep a weather eye on the proceedings.

Harry thought the whole thing exaggerated and was by this time getting quite sick of Malfoy junior's antics. He understood some of Draco's resentment at having his mother replaced as the lady of Malfoy Manor, but really, this had been going on months now and they WERE all grown-ups -- Lucius admittedly more so than the three Hogwarts classmates, but still, even they were rounding twenty-nine this year. To top it all off, Narcissa was happily remarried, by all accounts, and living in Switzerland, so there could be no question of her happiness suffering during the proceedings.

"I'll help." The words were out of Harry's mouth before he really thought about what they meant.

Hermione's face was relieved. "Oh Harry, would you? That would be... That would be marvellous. Honestly, I don't know what else to do."

Harry thought briefly about how easily wars could be started, on a Saturday morning, before lunch. And then the competitive spirit took him and he began to scheme. "Of course."

*

 

Harry travelled in high secrecy to Iceland the following Tuesday to speak with a grower of rare tundra ice roses. He didn't know how they would hold up in England in June, but he had high hopes that the vendor's relative obscurity would keep Malfoy junior off his trail for a bit. Mr. Thorgersson was quite helpful, and they negotiated terms and discussed cooling charms and extra staff to help with both transportation and protection of the rare blooms. At least with this fragile and unusual a flower, the security level around the arrangements would be high anyway.

Harry's suspicions were roused, however, when he spotted Blaise Zabini at a nearby table in a restaurant in Reykjavik, just as he was trying to figure out how to avoid reindeer meat and puffin in his soup.

He was unsurprised when Mr. Thorgersson Firecalled him two days later to say that an unusual blight had struck the crop and he wouldn't be able to deliver.

*

 

The Syrian fire tulips were exquisitely beautiful, grown in the secluded and rocky highlands. Harry looked out over a flaming hillside field of glory and thought that yes, this would do quite nicely. The Manor greenery and the ivory of Hermione's chantilly lace dress would only be enhanced by the stunning red, orange and gold blooms. And of course, there was Gryffindor pride to consider. Harry adjusted his woollen hat and smirked.

The next day, the letter of regret came by Phoenix. A German collector had bought the entire stock.

*

 

After similar failures with growers of Thai blue ginger flowers, Tunisian moon-blooming jasmine, and Southwestern Scorpion Flowers from the United States, Harry grew desperate. He felt sure that all of Slytherin house was behind the plot - he knew he'd seen Pansy Parkinson in Addis Ababa, whilst on the trail of Ethiopian star lotuses - but he could not, for love, money, stealth, or magic, secure a reliable contract for flowers for the seventeenth of June.

When his backup plans began to involve house elves, clippers, and early morning attacks on famous horticultural sites in England and abroad, he knew it had gone too far. He would have to beard the snake in his den. Or lair. Or whatever snakes resided in. Slimy rock hideouts?

On the morning of May 22, Harry found himself in front of a tall black door in Kensington. The coiled green serpent doorknocker and the engraved M told him he had the right address. Squaring his shoulders, he grabbed the serpent to knock. It tried to bite him. As he pulled out a wand to hex the hissing snake, the door flew open. Draco Malfoy stood there, as elegant as ever, wearing a grey silk dressing gown and a pair of striped lawn pyjamas. His hair was impeccable, but his face was twisted in a nasty scowl. "Go away, Potter," he barked.

Harry jammed his brogue into the space before the door closed, mentally praising the skill of his cobbler as it held. He shouldered against the black expanse of the door and Draco stumbled backwards.

As they faced off in the hall, Harry's eye was caught by a tall portrait hanging above a gilt side-table. Severus Snape peered coolly at him in lifelike oil detail, a faint gleam in his jet black eyes and a truly realistic curl to his thin lips.

Snape's smile broadened as Harry's face suddenly met the floor, his jaw aching from Draco's well-aimed but luckily slightly off-balance right hook.

Harry rolled over and stood up, head pounding.

Draco charged and Harry lost no time in stepping to the side and tripping him. He went down in an outraged heap of flying blond hair and lost civility.

Harry rubbed his jaw and let Draco take his time standing up. That collision with the stairs had looked painful.

"Stop!" Snape's voice commanded from the side-wall. They both straightened involuntarily and turned to the portrait.

"As entertaining as it is to watch, this will resolve nothing. Draco, call Chessie for coffee and sit down with Mr. Potter. If you do not like what he says, put something in his coffee. I do not think brawling your strongest suit."

Draco scowled and pushed his hair out of his face. He nodded briefly to Snape and strode imperiously out of the high-ceilinged foyer, the torn sleeve trailing from his slim arm marring the impression of irate dignity only slightly.

Harry stifled a smirk. Then Snape spoke his name in that familiar, contempt-laden tone. Harry turned back to the portrait, wondering how the artist had managed to capture so much of Snape's brooding authority without running in fear from his work. He nodded at his former professor.

Snape pressed his lips together. "Do not bait him, Potter. This situation is extremely difficult for him."

Harry cocked his head. "Bait him?"

Snape raised his eyebrows and flared his nostrils, the gesture accentuating the beaky, sharp plane of his nose. "Potter, I know - or pray - that the imbecilic behaviour of yours is only an act hiding a mature mind capable of discernment."

The pause between them was marked, broken after a long moment by Snape's high, thin laugh that ended on a slight wheeze. "Joking, of course," Snape said when he got his breath back. "You are obviously as immature and hot-headed as you ever were." Snape sized Harry up. "But you'll do for now. You've distracted him from the impending nuptials nicely. Now he's angry with you instead of his father."

Harry blinked and rubbed his bruised and swelling jaw a bit, as if to stimulate thought. Nothing happened.

"Go." Snape waved long, surprisingly delicate fingers at him. "Make peace. Plan together and perhaps you'll even achieve a ... mutually satisfactory conclusion." He stifled an amused snort.

Harry scowled and walked into the front room. A white-draped table was set with a silver coffee service and a plate of buns. Draco stood near the door, pretending to read an upside-down book from the tall shelves.

"May I sit?" Harry sat.

Draco trailed to the table and sat across from Harry, settling himself imperiously in the white upholstered chair.

It's in the languor, Harry thought. That's where they hide the money and breeding.

He accepted the coffee Draco poured and sipped it slowly, the heat welcome after the chill of the hall.

Draco sipped his coffee as well, pursing his lips and looking bored as he avoided direct eye contact with Harry. A nasty scrape showed on his forehead.

Neither spoke for several minutes.

The unpleasant silence was resolved when the sound of a call at the library Floo came. Lucius Malfoy's long-maned head appeared in the flames of the large, white-mantled fireplace.

"Draco." His tone was as measured as ever. "This has gone too far."

Lucius spotted the room's other occupant. "Oh. Hello, Harry." He nodded briefly in greeting, the barest flicker of surprise ghosting across his features. His focus returned to his son. "Draco, I'm glad you're working things out with Mr. Potter." Lucius's eyes narrowed in a spine-chilling fashion. Harry found Lucius's manner a bit pompous and often terribly exaggerated, but it certainly created the desired effect in its target audience. Draco crouched at the fire, his full attention on his father's face. "I should hate to have to step in myself. Both of you are invited to the Manor for breakfast Sunday. Ten o'clock."

Without a farewell, Lucius was gone. Draco rocked back on his haunches.

Harry stood, having watched the whole affair, coffee cup forgotten in his hand. After a few moments of regarding Draco's still form, he set the cup down onto the equally delicate saucer. The light clink travelled through the room.

"Get. Out." Draco's voice was so low, Harry could barely hear the words, mere hisses of compressed air.

He complied, wondering why he'd ever agreed to get involved in this affair and whether he shouldn't just encourage Hermione to elope. He nodded to Snape in the hallway - the long-faced portrait only blinked at him, frowning - and stepped out onto the high stone stair and sunlit street.

*

 

Harry did not hear from Hermione before his command appearance at breakfast, and this worried him. He'd no idea what lay in store for him and no desire to have two Malfoys after him, rather than just the one, who quite sufficed as far as annoyances went.

He made no further trips to distant flower-growing regions. Instead he researched local wildflower meadows, skilled flower charmers, and the latest in alternative wedding decorations. He began to fancy the idea of sculpted turfs and ice swans, or perhaps wooden flower ikebana in stone vases? But he knew Hermione wanted flowers, real flowers, for the wedding. She wouldn't be pleased with flower-shaped alternatives, although very good charms might do.

Sunday dawned, green and sunny, and Harry knew it would be a horrid day. The birds were singing, the sky was blue, and he had an odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His dread was confirmed the moment he Flooed into the reception hall of Malfoy Manor and heard the nasal tones of Draco shouting at the top of his lungs.

Harry jumped out of the way as Draco rounded the corner, headed at full tilt for the Floo. Lucius appeared in the doorway close behind him. Draco grabbed a pinch of powder, nearly overturning the alabaster bowl, and flung it into the fire. He spat his address into the flames, but was prevented from stepping through by his father's curt command. "Wait."

Both Harry and Draco turned to look at the imperious and slightly mussed figure, who spoke haltingly. "Draco, I..."

Red spots bloomed high on Draco's cheeks. "Don't even bother with excuses, Father."

Lucius frowned. "I shan't. Do not take that tone with me."

Draco's chin rose, but then he nodded. "Yes, sir. May I take my leave?"

Lucius pondered and inclined his head. Draco fairly jumped into the Floo.

Lucius sighed at his progeny's disappearance. "Please come in, Harry." He glided from the hall.

Harry followed him into the parlour. Hermione sat reading the Prophet, a cup of rooibush tea in front of her. Harry frowned and looked at the tea and then at her. She smiled.

No wonder Draco was in a lather.

"Congratulations," Harry said. He looked to Lucius, who nodded in acknowledgement.

Hermione smiled again. "Thank you. We had the confirmation from the Healer this week."

"Will this change the wedding plans at all?" Harry asked, praying for elopement.

"No." Hermione said. "Luckily the dress alterations are minor at this stage. Of course I shan't be able to drink champagne."

"Rotten luck," Harry commiserated. Hoping perhaps her sensitivity to scent had increased, he added, "Any nausea?"

"You do have flowers, don't you, Harry?" Hermione asked. Lucius looked up at this and fixed Harry with a gimlet eye.

Harry sighed. He would have to tell them the truth. "No. Not any that I can guarantee. I've visited growers far and wide, and I do mean wide, and I think Draco has several friends on the case at this point."

Hermione contemplated the news. Lucius looked faintly smug, but then changed his expression when he saw his intended's face.

"This won't do," Hermione said.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I really am. I will make sure there are flowers. I'd say if I have to charm them myself, but, well, you wouldn't want that."

Lucius coughed delicately. "I shall talk to Draco. And Harry, you might try this address." He passed a heavy card with a handwritten address to Harry. Surprisingly, it was in Scotland. "Hortensia keeps lovely gardens and I believe she's laid in extra this year."

"I see," Harry said, looking at the address. "Then I shall go make her acquaintance." He met Lucius's eyes, and Lucius actually smiled. Just faintly, but Harry was astonished. He had had his doubts that this was a love match, but the positive evidence continued to mount.

Hermione beamed at Lucius, and Harry was now the one to cough.

After a lovely breakfast of crêpes and fresh strawberries, Harry excused himself. Lucius had let him know that Hortensia was expecting him this afternoon. By two.

*

 

The moment he stepped out of the Floo, he could smell the fresh-turned, loamy soil and the delicate perfume of flowers. An elegant witch in periwinkle blue robes greeted him. "Mr. Potter, I presume. Hortensia Weatherpoole."

They shook hands and, after a few pleasantries, walked out into the back gardens. Harry had expected the lovely large beds of summer flowers, but then they turned a corner into an astoundingly large planting of white rose bushes, as far as the eye could see, surrounded by a windbreak of tall hedges. Clearly Hortensia had established powerful weather and sun-focusing charms to create a special micro-climate.

"They should be in perfect bloom in two weeks," Mrs. Weatherpoole said, examining the nearest bush studded with green and white buds.

"I assume," Harry paused and looked into Mrs. Weatherpoole's stern but amused face. "I assume you've heard of my tour of flower growers and Draco's efforts to thwart me."

Mrs. Weatherpoole laughed. "Of course. Lucius has given me a blow-by-blow account and it's been the talk of all of the growers' circles as well."

Harry nodded. "Do you require help with delivery or arrangement?"

Mrs. Weatherpoole shook her head. "My nephews and I have it all planned."

Harry nodded again. "So I should just..."

"Carry on," said Mrs. Weatherpoole. "And come to the Manor on the sixteenth."

*

 

The last two weeks before the wedding were the busiest for Harry. He criss-crossed the globe, visiting Canada, France, and China and even spending some time orchid hunting in Mesoamerica. If he was leading Draco on a wild goose chase, then it was going to be a good one.

On the fifteenth, Draco caught up with him in the lavender fields in southern France. A friend of Mrs. Weatherpoole's had some unusual specimens, and Harry had been charged with transporting cuttings back to England.

Harry had just taken the miniaturised case with the small plants in protective potting and carefully wrapped it in a pocket handkerchief. Mademoiselle Duvin had left the field to walk back to the house. The barest hint of green fragrance hovered in the late afternoon sun.

When he turned to walk to the small copse of trees to Apparate, he saw Draco leaning insouciantly against a poplar, white shirt open at the collar, khakis crisp and one well-shod foot crossed over the ankle of the other.

"Going to grow your own flowers in two days?" Draco smirked and watched Harry pat his pocket almost unconsciously.

"Mmmm," Harry replied noncommitally.

"Well, you won't win. I've seen to it." The smug look on Draco's face was almost too much to bear.

"Really," Harry said. "Well, your efforts have been impressive." He stared back at Draco, calm and unworried, until the smile faded from his sharp features.

Draco looked at him then, really looked at him. "What?" he asked after a long, searching look. "What do you know?"

Harry just smiled. "I'm on the bride's side. That's all I know."

He walked off, leaving a confused Draco in his wake, and Apparated home.

*

 

The sixteenth of June dawned stormy and cold. Harry met Mrs. Weatherpoole and her nephews at the manor at ten that morning. They surveyed the grounds, the charmed tent, and the pond with swans. The vows would be said in the heart of the labyrinth, with only a few witnesses, and the bride and groom would be welcomed by the assembly of guests as they came out.

Mrs. Weatherpoole set her nephews and Harry to work, measuring, counting, surveying, double-checking every inch of the location. She planned to set up a perfect replica of the grounds and use her house elves to charm the flowers over the next morning, just before the guests' arrivals. Harry and the nephews spent a long, gruelling day making sure that all of the calculations and locations were exact and precisely charted. After the long procedure at Malfoy Manor, they would have to Floo to Scotland and do the same there.

Harry's only comfort was that when Draco came snooping around during the middle of the proceedings, no flowers were to be seen. Draco watched very carefully and made sure there were no traces of floral matter anywhere. He cast a few suspicious looks at Mrs. Weatherpoole, glared over at Harry, and strode off.

"He's not taking it well at all, poor dear," Mrs. Weatherpoole said, making a notation on her complicated grid. "Ah well. At least he can act like a child now. Perhaps he'll get over it eventually."

Harry grunted and cast a surveying spell for the hundredth time that morning. He didn't think, privately, that Draco would ever stop acting childish, but no one had ever asked his opinion.

"And he likes you," Mrs. Weatherpoole continued, directing one of her nephews into a new corner of the hedges.

Harry froze and stared at the older witch, his wand hanging from his suddenly nerveless hand.

Mrs. Weatherpoole looked up after a moment. "Oh, do tell me one of you has noticed. And hold your wand straight - that won't measure accurately at all."

Harry's mind was blank for the remainder of the morning. Mrs. Weatherpoole had to remind him twice about the lavender cuttings once they arrived at her home.

*

 

Harry met Hermione in her dressing room at Malfoy Manor on the morning of the seventeenth. The flags were flying: Slytherin, Gryffindor, the Malfoy crest, and something that looked suspiciously like a toothbrush on a golden shield. They had a leisurely breakfast of chocolate croissants and fruit, and then the house elves came in to dress Hermione. She had decided to dispense with the customary gaggle of female relatives for her second marriage, so it was just she and Harry who walked out to the garden and into the labyrinth.

Draco and Lucius arrived shortly afterwards. The small wedding party came together in the heart of the old maze, with an ancient wizard to hear the couple's vows. The black robes kept them all warm - Hermione, ever the traditionalist, had chosen dress robes for the ceremony but planned to change into her cream lace dress for the party. She and Lucius exchanged rings (Lucius pulled them out of his own pocket, wisely not entrusting the task to Draco), and the witnessing formulas were recited by Harry and Draco in turn. At the end, the couple kissed briefly. Harry swore he saw a tear in Draco's eye, but when he looked at him, Draco turned away.

Lucius took Hermione's arm and led her out of the maze to the waiting crowd beyond. Harry and Draco followed and both of their mouths dropped open in astonishment.

Quite simply all of the flowers in the world, or a shockingly large percentage of them, were arranged in a sea of colours between the labyrinth and the Manor. The blue ginger flowers, the lotuses, the white roses in bundles, the French lavender, the fire tulips: every blossom Harry had scouted and Draco had stopped delivery of was there. Harry spotted Mrs. Weatherpoole smiling in dress robes, and Mr. Thorgersson, as well as the tulip-grower Mr. Halabi and Mademoiselle Duvin.

Lucius smiled at Hermione and she beamed back at him. Scattered rays of sun shone through the patchy grey and white clouds, bathing the assembled company in light. The guests greeted the newlyweds and Draco headed directly for the drinks. Harry followed. Although waiters were passing champagne for the toast, Draco procured a double whisky from a house elf and then, surprisingly, one for Harry. They drank in silence, looking out over the lawn and the festive crowd and the undulating sea of blossoms. Draco started to laugh first, and Harry joined in, and by the time Pansy Parkinson found them, they were howling uncontrollably with tears streaming from their eyes. She frowned and pronounced them both shamefully drunk but strode off with a smile on her face.

Harry and Draco toasted the couple with champagne and then wrested the whisky bottle away from the elves. By the time dusk fell and wizards and witches were dancing on the crushed petals underneath the charmed starry sky of the tent, Harry and Draco were seated shoulder-to-shoulder on the terrace steps, swaying and taking turns sending petals and showers of sparks into the air.

And then it was midnight and only the hardiest guests remained. The elves began cleaning people out of corners and restoring the general order. Blaise and Pansy decamped to his Mayfair flat after a rather loud snogging session in the corner of the first floor hall. Lucius and Hermione had departed hours ago, just at sunset, for a small château in the Loire Valley owned by a Malfoy cousin.

Harry and Draco lay at either end of a long sofa in the library, having switched over to mineral water and coffee. They'd cast sobering charms on each other and were now far less drunk than before. They'd been careful not to sober up entirely, though. It would have ruined the point of that much good whisky.

Draco's dress shirt was rumpled and his robes were slightly askew. Harry's own robes smelled of flowers and spirits and he had errant petals in his hair, which Draco took great pleasure in replacing from the scores of indoor arrangements every time Harry managed to pick them out.

They slumped on the leather sofa, one against one arm, the other against the other, watching the library fire and occasionally causing it to change colour or form shapes, bundles of fiery flowers, golden lions, thick, coiling snakes.

"So why do you think they did it?" Draco asked carelessly, flipping a lock of white-blond hair out of his eyes and looking over to Harry's end of the couch.

Harry's voice caught in his throat. The firelight and the purple streaks from Draco's latest efforts with the fire caught his pale hair and limned his long face in an oddly affecting display of beauty. "I dunno," he said finally. "But I do think your father was ahead of us every step of the way."

Draco laughed. "You get used to that. When you're part of the family, I mean." He looked over to Harry. "You are the closest thing to a brother Hermione has, are you not?"

Harry pondered that thought. "Yes. I suppose so."

Draco nodded. "Then welcome to the Malfoy family. Please check your red and gold at the door."

Harry smiled wickedly. "Oh, I don't think so. The Gryffindor flag flew over the Manor today."

Draco snorted. "Point. But so did a Muggle Toothcleaning Wand."

"Point," conceded Harry and they lapsed into silence.

In the end, it began as a small kiss. Draco was fishing a petal out of his own hair which Harry had put there in retaliation and Harry was reaching with his hand to put in another, when their eyes met, slowly and then their lips. Draco tasted like chocolate and malt and kissed like the devil himself. Harry found himself straddling Draco's hips, holding his upturned face in his hands as they exchanged slow, molten kisses back and forth that accelerated and built to breath-defying extremes. Harry lost track of how much time he spent locked mouth-to-mouth with Draco, rocking into his long, lean body; he only noticed when he was looking dazedly at Draco, who had pushed him back and said, "Enough."

Harry wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He hadn't thought it near enough, but who was he to say when Draco Malfoy was issuing orders.

Draco unwound himself from the couch and stood up. Harry noted briefly how tall he was, rapidly followed by the thought of what he might look like out of his robes.

"G'night." Draco said, waving a hand over his head as he walked unsteadily away.

Harry watched the long figure retreat, then finished his coffee and stood up reluctantly to go to his own room.

 

Epilogue

Draco leaned against a poplar, white shirt open at the collar displaying a string of soft red lovebites. Harry was trying to focus on the late June sun and the heavenly smell of lavender, but his attention kept straying to the tall blond figure at his side.

"Have we been out of the cottage for long enough?" Draco asked, his petulance ill concealed. They had taken a ride into town and had lunch, stopping at the Bee Museum afterwards to fill Harry's desire to take part in the larger world around them.

"Just another moment." Harry looked out over the enormous purpled fields to the rough yellow stubble of straw beyond and patches of sunlit grass. Provence was truly lovely; he wanted to capture the sense impressions of the day and press them in the pages of his memory: Draco, the scent of lavender, the heavy drone of bees, the golden June sunlight.

Draco yawned. Taking the unsubtle hint, Harry turned and looped his arm around Draco's waist. They walked down the dusty road and through the apricot orchard to the small stone cottage. Draco's hair was golden white in the sunshine. He had light freckles on his nose from the sun and a thoroughly relaxed attitude from the past weeks.

The cool stone and shadow of the cottage gave some respite from the afternoon heat. Harry set down his rucksack and unpacked the honeycombs and candles they had bought.

When Harry looked up, Draco was leaning naked in the doorway of the small bedroom, his long frame lit from behind by the sunlight streaming from the window.

Harry gaped. Even though he and Draco had been intimate for several weeks, his lean, polished nakedness still took Harry's breath away.

As Draco beckoned from the doorframe, Harry could see the mischievous smile on his thin lips.

The rich rattle of the cicadas droned outside as Harry followed Draco into the little room with the iron bedstead. Draco lay back on the faded quilt, watching as Harry stripped his clothing off and came to bed.

In the stillness and the warmth, Harry laid his body over Draco's, leaning down for a gentle kiss. Draco kissed him back fiercely, grey eyes flashing. Harry refused to rise to the challenge. Draco was always impatient, but Harry enjoyed stretching everything out. He explored Draco's mouth with his tongue, slow kisses spinning out into minutes.

When Draco began to squirm beneath him, Harry knew he'd reached the limits of the other's patience. He smiled, enjoying the rosy flush across Draco's cheeks and the tousle of white blond hair. Draco's lips were open and Harry kissed him again. "What would you like?"

Draco stretched a little and feigned nonchalance. "Oh. You know. Sex." His eyes were narrowed, but opened wide on the last word for emphasis.

Harry laughed and licked a careful trail from jawbone to collarbone, sucking a new mark into the hollow of Draco's skin. Draco moaned and rubbed against him.

Harry lifted himself onto his hands and knees and continued licking down Draco's body, over the white gashes of scar tissue on his chest, his pale pink nipple, the ridges of his ribs, the flat of his hipbone. Harry nestled his nose into the cleft of Draco's thigh, his cheek barely grazing against the rippled rosy fullness of Draco's balls.

"Any time you're ready, Potter." Draco stretched his arms over his head and folded his hands under his neck. He pretended to close his eyes but watched Harry from underneath his lids.

Harry kissed the top of Draco's thigh and drew circles with his thumb on the inside of the other thigh. Draco's eyelashes fluttered.

"Hmmm." Harry regarded Draco's erection thoughtfully. "Sex, you say?"

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance, then squeaked as Harry licked gently along the seam of his ballsac. Harry continued upwards, tongue wet and firm, rolling across Draco's foreskin and finally capturing the swollen head of his prick in his mouth.

This was the point where the strategy of slowness failed utterly. Although Harry tried to hold back, Draco's howls and guttural oaths went straight to his own cock. He took Draco deep and wet into his open throat, relishing the thickness and the fast, sliding rhythm of sucking him off.

Draco's fingers twined in Harry's hair. As he got closer and closer, Harry almost stopped breathing. Draco suddenly twisted his hips and dislodged Harry's mouth.

Harry looked up in surprise. Draco's grey eyes were almost black and his mouth was open. "No," he panted. "I want to come while you fuck me."

Harry closed his eyes as a spasm of desire swept through him. Whenever he thought he had Draco under control, Draco could effortlessly peel away another layer and show him naked lust, stronger and bolder than anything Harry could imagine.

The small phial of herbal lubricant was never far from the bed. Harry tipped out a pool of the smooth, viscous liquid onto his fingers, then spread it onto his cock. Draco watched him, hands behind his head and face tipped back to expose his pale throat.

Draco raised a knee and placed one foot on the coverlet as Harry moved forward and found the soft ring of his arsehole. After a few moments, Draco sighed and leaned back. His body opened to Harry's fingers. Harry twisted and probed gently until Draco gave a stuttering sigh and lifted his hips from the bed.

Withdrawing his fingers, Harry kept his eyes on the slight rosy pucker of Draco's arsehole as he moved closer. Without asking, Draco reached under his head and took the pillow, stuffing it under his hips. Harry stared at the supple and lovely arcing movement, wondering for the nth time how he'd gotten lucky enough to have this, to have Draco under him and more than once.

Balancing between Draco's knees, Harry watched his face. Draco's eyes opened and he held Harry's gaze as Harry slowly guided himself up to and then into Draco's body. They both closed their eyes for a moment, then looked at each other. Draco's eyes were glazed and Harry was sure his own were less than focused.

Gently, firmly, slowly again, Harry pushed into Draco, moving with the subtle cues of his hips, his breath, his muscle tension. Draco bit his lip and Harry stopped, waiting until Draco shifted his hips in impatience. Time slowed until he was finally fully sheathed in Draco, Draco's knees bent under him, stopped in a frozen moment of bliss and newness and perfection.

Then time started again, quickly, jolting, as though making up for the pause in between. Draco wrapped his long fingers around the posts of the bedstead, twisting his head to the side and biting his lip as Harry thrust into him, the bed bouncing in counter arcs beneath them. Their rough breaths mixed with the rasp of the cicadas and the faint, dragging squeak of the bedsprings.

Sweat started between Harry's shoulders and at his hairline, trickling down his spine, falling into his eyes and blurring his vision with saltwater until he could barely see Draco beneath him. Without sight the universe was sound and taste and movement and warmth and the desperate, aching ripples of pleasure. Harry bent over Draco, reaching him with a salty, quick kiss. Draco held his mouth and brushed the sweaty hair out of his face with one hand, then fell back against the pillow under the relentless rhythm.

Draco reached and curled a hand around his prick finally, pulling with a few quick strokes as Harry leaned back, holding Draco's knees and watching himself disappear into Draco. Draco grimaced, soundlessly, and came, painting his stomach with thick stripes. As Draco's body clenched around him, Harry sped up, finding a faster, harder pace for the soundless, white moments where his entire awareness narrowed and then there was nothing he could do and he was coming inside Draco, his awareness slowing returning in the middle of his own shouts. He fell to earth slowly, bending forward, Draco's hand on his cheek and the buzzing of his own blood loud in his ears.  
Harry wiped a hand across his face and looked into Draco's bright, unguarded eyes. He wondered, as he did frequently these days, how deeply they could go without changing each other or whether, indeed, they had already been changed. The tight feeling in his chest at Draco's lazy smile did little to assuage his fears. He gently shifted his body off of Draco's and gave him a soft kiss.

After a moment of tenderness, Harry dampened a washcloth with the ewer of water on the side table. Pale hair and dark, they curled together, their bodies faintly moist and spent and warm under the crisp sheets. The smell of lavender, of honey, and of warm grass filled the summer air and the afternoon stretched endless before them.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my team of brilliant betas and to marguerite_26 for a great prompt. This was written for hd_career_fair 2009.


End file.
